


red thread.

by gazing



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Character Study, Fantasy, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Magical Realism, Pining, Romance, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:06:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24538186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gazing/pseuds/gazing
Summary: In Baltimore State Hospital, Will watches Hannibal sleep.
Relationships: Will Graham/Hannibal Lecter
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86





	red thread.

**Author's Note:**

> HI HI so . i've been rewatching hannibal lately and thinking a lot about hannigram and this is the result. 
> 
> set some time just before the wrath of the lamb!!! and just looking into will's mindset at that time, kind of discussing why he might've been at the place he is in 3x13
> 
> god i love this show SO MUCH i feel so tender about it and i hope this fic shows that :D enjoy !!

Will has not seen Hannibal Lecter sleep in a long time.

It's a strange realisation to have. Will sits in the dark, his knees tucked up to his chin, his eyes gazing through the glass to Hannibal's prison cell behind it. There's a certain kind of intimacy in sleep that can be found nowhere else - vulnerability, the loss of control, lying in the comfort of darkness behind your eyes. And Will has hardly seen it before in Hannibal. 

It was easier than he expected, to find his way to Baltimore State Hospital For The Criminally Insane, to slip past the guards and the nurses as if he were only a shadow. From his lonely motel room to this very moment, his back against the wall, Will had not been seen. He was just a ghost, finding his way in the dark to the place he would always be drawn to. 

"Hello." Will murmurs, into the darkness.

Hannibal does not stir. It's strange, Will thinks again. Hannibal has always been, more than anything,  _ alert.  _ He never stops thinking. Will has always sought after those moments when he startles Hannibal out of his shell - the few seconds when Hannibal blinks, and the only thought in his mind is  _ Will,  _ and the shock and awe on his face seems as if he's seeing Will for the first time. 

Here, too, lying on his bed on his back, Hannibal is not thinking. What dreams is he living in? Where does he go when he rests? Will sighs, deeply, tenderness and terror slipping out of his breath.

"When will I," Will says quietly, "Be able to leave you?"

Hannibal turns a little, his face obscured by shadow. His features are softer than his insides, less harsh and domineering. His eyes, flickering a little behind his eyelids as if dreaming, are not calculating - they are only tired. Hannibal's mouth is a thin line now, relaxed with sleep. It makes Will think of his smile. At times, when he smiles, Will thinks,  it's  a gentle, thrilled little curve of the mouth that's just for Will. 

Sometimes, in the darkness of the night, while Molly sleeps beside him, he thinks of the moments Hannibal has smiled at him. He tries not to,  _ God  _ does he try, but they are stretched through time, and they are infinitely wonderful. Pride, awe, affection. _ Love.  _ Those are the words written into Hannibal's smile. These moments are stained with blood, but beautifully. 

Will swallows a lump in his throat. 

"How do I escape the pull of you?" Will whispers.

When Jack had called on him, his  _ no  _ had been an easy thing. He had felt nothing, looking into Jack's empty face, only a hollow politeness which had nothing else hiding behind it. The pictures of the family had pulled at his heart, but even that was still not a  _ yes.  _ Even with Molly's permission, he had still not yet decided whether he would leave.

The letter, though, had been the yes. He had felt himself say  _ yes  _ as soon as his fingers touched the envelope that Hannibal, too, had held. He had felt it looking at Hannibal's handwriting, lit by the warmth of his fire. The  _ yes  _ had sat heavily in his gut. He had wanted to see Hannibal again. And he had wanted to see him again every day before that.

Laying eyes on Hannibal again had felt like coming home. Not the easy, warm home with Molly and Walter, with his dogs and the cold air and the smell of trees. But the home Hannibal had always wanted for him.

"You were right." Will smiles crookedly, looking down at his knees. "I think I did come here just to look at you."

Admissions in the dark are easier. Easier, still, when Hannibal can't listen. Hannibal can't look through his ribs, right to the very core of his chest, when he is sleeping. Do their hearts beat to the same rhythm? Will imagines he can hear them, in tune in the silent room, loud in his ears. A melody they made together.

Will buries his head in his knees, sinking into himself. He can hear Hannibal breathing lightly. His chest, rising and falling, the sign of life that Will had wanted so badly to take from him. 

Ache, Bedelia had said.  _ Do you ache for him?  _ Perhaps  _ aching  _ is what he feels now, his entire body thrumming with pain, and desperation, every inch of him reaching out to Hannibal. He longs for the glass to shatter. 

"I miss you." Will murmurs.

He closes his eyes.

In his mind, there are more rooms than there used to be. No longer does he stand at a stream, alone. Most of the rooms are filled with remnants and whispers of Hannibal, places he can only go with his eyes closed. Now, behind his eyelids, the glass in the room disappears _ ,  _ and there is no wall between them. 

When Will stands, his knees do not tremble. He is effortless in his movements, steady, as if he is in complete control. In reality, he is trembling, curled into the corner of Hannibal's room. But here, in his fantasy, his eyes are dark and steady. He walks forward.

Will's footsteps are in rhythm with their heartbeats. Their sole heartbeat, Will thinks, because by now their hearts are one and the same. Often, Will feels Hannibal is beside him, when he eats, when he sleeps, when he kisses Molly's hairline. They exist together. The same heart, the same mind, the same movements.

He stops by Hannibal's bed, looking down at him. Hannibal's hair, shorter now, is a little messy with sleep, which makes Will smile. Hannibal has never been undignified, but here is now, with his mouth is parted and his cheeks just a little darker.

"I think I know how our journey ends." Will breathes.

There, there, there's a small strand of hair in Hannibal's face - Will reaches out, fingers not shaking, and brushes it away. He has never been good with touch. Embraces feel foreign to him, and his touches always feel as if they belong to someone else. Will is present here, though, and his movements are his own. He is  _ awake  _ when his hand brushes the hair away from Hannibal's sleeping face. It's the first touch in his life that's felt real.

Will's breath hitches. It's another admission, he thinks.

"You and I," Will smiles, the room growing warm. "I don't think we could ever end. Even when we're gone, we'll exist together."

How many times, could the teacup shatter, and repair itself? Will thinks it might go on through time, even when the world ends, those fine pieces of China slipping back into their rightful places. Drop the teacup, and watch it come back together. The same way Will watches himself love Hannibal again, and again, and again...

Will touches Hannibal's cheek. It's curved but sharp, fitting neatly into his palm, as if God himself carved it to fit Will's hand. 

"You showed me that you're mine," Will says. He remembers Hannibal on his knees, surrendering to the FBI, but only looking at Will. It had been Hannibal's own admission -  _ I want nothing but you. Come to me, someday.  _ "I think there will come a day, very soon, where I show you that I'm yours."

Hannibal breathes lightly. His skin is warm and rough. Will touches him gently, as if he were an expensive painting, or a jewel meant to be held with both hands.

"What do you dream of?" Will asks. 

He reaches down, his heart in his throat, and presses a gentle kiss to Hannibal's forehead. He smells like home and fire and blood. He smells like Will's aftershave.

"Where do you go?"

He moves, pressing his lips to Hannibal's cheek, and hovers there. Of all the dreams he's imagined since he met Hannibal, this is the one that will stay with him. The moment lodges into his chest, rising in his throat. It's another scar.

"Am I there with you?"

Even in this fantasy, Will begins to shake. He presses his lips to Hannibal's and stays there, the kiss stretching on for eternity, every murder and betrayal becoming tenderness between them. Will thinks he can hear a song that he's never heard before filling the room. A melody that Hannibal wrote for him. Sitting at a piano, their hearts beating as one.

Will leans back, and Hannibal's eyes flicker open. His gaze is warm and wild. He looks as if he might swallow Will whole.

Will gasps and comes back to himself. He's no longer in the warmth of Hannibal's space with a song playing in his ears. He's curled up and alone in the corner of Hannibal's room, his cheeks flushed and his hands trembling violently. He stuffs them into his jacket, shuddering. He didn't realise before that he had been crying.

"I don't know how much longer," Will chokes on a sob when he tries to swallow it, "I can pretend."

Hannibal stirs. Will's heart jumps as Hannibal's eyelashes flutter, his eyes blearily opening and coming back into focus. In this moment Will can imagine Hannibal waking a million times,  _ next  _ to him, and it hurts the way the scar on his stomach still does. If Will had went away with him, all of those years ago, where would they be now?

He blinks when he sees Will. A thrill passes through Will, dark and hot on his spine, when he realises Hannibal's eyes, for just a moment, betray his surprise.

"Hello, Will." Hannibal says, his voice still thick with sleep. His mouth turns up in a crooked smile that looks honest. "How does it feel, to watch me wake?"

Will lets out a shuddering breath.

"How many moments like this did we miss?" Hannibal asks. He runs a hand through his hair, right over the space Will had imagined touching, and Will swallows. "There is so much I can still give you."

Will rubs his eyes and turns his face away from Hannibal.

"And so much," Will can hear the smile in Hannibal's voice, "You can still give me."

"I had nothing to give you before," Will lies, "And I have  _ nothing  _ to give you now."

Hannibal stands slowly, and steps closer to the glass.

"Then why are you here?"

Will shakes his head. He stands, too, stepping as far away from the glass as he can.

"What do you dream of?" Will asks.

Hannibal's smile fades a little. Sometimes Will thinks he sees a deep sadness on Hannibal's face. He is reminded, constantly, of how often he has broken Hannibal's heart. Splintered it, crushed it, easily. 

"Home." Hannibal says quietly. "You dream of it too, don't you?"

Will imagines his lips again, careful on Hannibal's face. And he imagines their hands covered in blood. Both of those moments are their home. He shakes his head again, trying to dislodge the image from his mind, and wraps his arms around himself.

"I don't dream of anything." Will lies. 

Hannibal steps closer.

"You don't?"

"It's time for me to leave." Will says.

He can feel Hannibal's eyes,  _ all over him,  _ when he turns away. In that moment he is both leaving with Hannibal and he's staying with him, too, curled into the space beneath Hannibal's bed. There is no escape. There is only the darkness between them, growing hot and almost ready to overflow.

"Will."

Will doesn't turn. His name in Hannibal's mouth, hovering in the air, tempts him too much. It pulls at his hands, his heart, dragging him backwards. He imagines a red thread between them, painful when they're too far apart, pulling them towards each other at all times.

"You came to me in my dreams." Hannibal says. "I thought you touched me."

Will turns his head, and smiles.

"I did."  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> tumblr: pclastri
> 
> :D


End file.
